


Captain's Orders

by achildofyavanna (Minionfromthedark)



Category: One Piece, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Asexual Character, Female Ori, Flower Language, Friendship, Genderfluid Character, Multi, Original Character(s), Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, Symbolism, androgynous!Bilbo, devil's fruit powers, genderfluid!Fili
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 17:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minionfromthedark/pseuds/achildofyavanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His captain doesn't seem dissuaded, though. </p><p>"And what if I demand your service?", he asks, and before Thorin can answer, Bilbo continues, "What if I want you to be at my side always?"</p><p>...</p><p>"You are my captain and I am your first mate. I shall follow you until you have no need of me anymore, until one of us dies, until your goal is completed. Please do not doubt my loyalty."</p><p>[on hiatus until I can give this the attention it deserves]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Resacon1990](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Resacon1990/gifts), [but_why_not](https://archiveofourown.org/users/but_why_not/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Between The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1535594) by [Thisbirdhasflown](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thisbirdhasflown/pseuds/Thisbirdhasflown). 



> Shoutout to my Beta Ash, who let me shout at her about this and contributed to this greatly. I love you. Also Mags, who is lovely. I love you.

The first thing he can remember is an image of his mother’s smile. She's the most beautiful woman, his father used to say and his eyes would crinkle as he'd grin at Bilbo with fond amusement. Bilbo had loved putting that expression on his fathers face, and even more when he'd start to laugh. It had always been a quiet laugh, as if it hurt to utter such a sound; Bilbo always had made sure to laugh even louder for the both of them whenever he could.

Some nights as he'd grown up in a too big house with too little people, he'd sworn he could hear his father weeping. These nights he'd always stayed awake thinking about his mother. About finding her and about finally asking her why she left them. They both never got to sleep during those nights, and when they passed each other in the hallway the morning after they'd shoot each other rueful smiles.

Belladonna Baggins haunted them both.

During the years an old friend of his mothers would visit. Bungo never truly seemed happy to see him, and would always keep averting his eyes to the side as if searching for someone. His name was Gandalf Grey, and Bilbo adored the old man. The Wizard, they'd called him, as he'd been able to create colorful firework in the blink of an eye or the snap of a finger. Only later Bilbo had stumbled upon the term “devil’s fruit”.

Gandalf had always told wonderful stories when he'd come to stay for weeks on end, and he'd always let himself be pulled where Bilbo had wanted him to sit. Always in front of the fireplace. He'd told a young Bilbo about the marines and pirates, strange places such as the calm belt and The Grandline. The West Blue had suddenly seemed much too small, Bilbo'd thought.

“Will you take me with you, someday?” he had asked Gandalf one evening with all of his ten years of age eager for an answer. The Wizard had chuckled quietly, and that sound mixed with the cracking embers in the fireplace had taken Bilbo’s mind suddenly far, far away. He’d only ever heard of campfires in stories, he'd wanted to make his own.

“I doubt that your father would just let you run off with me, my little friend.” Bilbo'd pouted and turned big green eyes up at the old man, but Gandalf had not been deterred. He'd simply extended a hand, ruffled the young boy’s hair, and ignored the indignant sounds of protest he'd made.

The next time Bilbo'd looked up The Wizard had turned his head towards the fire and looked somewhat sad. In fact, he wore a vaguely similar expression Bilbo had only seen on his father’s face before. The young boy had chosen not to speak of it anymore… if only to see the old man smile again.

It'd become some sort of a mission after that, the need to see other people smile. Because Bilbo finds that the sight of happy people made him happy in return. Likewise, people who were sad, made Bilbo sad. His father had often told his son not to make his happiness dependent on strangers, but Bilbo can't really help it. If there was a way to make things better, then he will make them better.

That mission had come to a stop briefly during his father’s illness and after his resulting death; his mood hadn't improved no matter the amount of best wishes from neighbours and kin. Bungo had waited and waited, yearned and yearned, and in the end Belladonna had never returned. Bilbo thinks he is more determined now than ever before to find his absent mother.

“Do not do anything rash, my son.” His father had said as he'd clung to Bilbo's hand as if it were the last thing holding him on this earth. “The world is a dangerous place. If you step out your front door, you will not know where your feet will take you.” He'd paused, and Bilbo had known he had underestimated his father. He knows now that his father had known what Bilbo had wanted to do with his life. “Your mother used to say that, you know? If it were not for that picture, I would have already forgotten her face.” He'd laughed, but his mouth had twisted in a bitter way.

Bilbo’s smile had been a bit more genuine.“I only remember her smile. She isn’t smiling in the portrait.”

“She had a wonderful smile, my Belladonna.” He'd looked happy then despite his shortness of breath as he'd struggled. Bilbo still wants to be as angry at her as he'd been in that moment. For leaving them all alone, for making his father unhappy, for depraving Bilbo of the mother he could have had. But Bungo wouldn’t have loved her as much as he did if she had left on a whim. So despite not knowing why she had left, his father certainly never told him and Gandalf had always avoided the questions of a small child, Bilbo still can't be as mad as he once was.

“I’ll find her, dad.” Bilbo had promised later, when his father had fallen asleep and hadn't woken up again. “I’ll find her and bring her back.”

 

It's now, a few weeks after Bungo’s untimely death and after his coffin had been lowered into the ground, after all guests had left the premise and he was finally alone, that Bilbo stands before his father’s tomb stone screaming, ranting, weeping. All that he had kept to himself he lets out in a mindless rage. It feels good to let go in such a way, even though afterwards he's spent and tired as he slumps in place.

Gandalf later finds him curled up beneath an oak tree that has stood in his backyard since Bilbo can remember. The old man sits nimbly down next to him and opens his arms in offer. Bilbo practically throws himself at his godfather and he doesn't care that he's an adult, that he's the only son of a wealthy and highly respected man. He's alone now, and he's never been so scared in his life. Gandalf is there, and it's the only thing that really matters to Bilbo right now as he sags in the old man’s arms and takes the much needed comfort that Gandalf happily gives.

They stay in the embrace for a very long time. The Wizard calms Bilbo with long soothing strokes of his hand up and down his back, and one hand pets his head. The grip Bilbo has on Gandalf's robes gradually lessens after a while, but it takes him longer to actually let go and sit back to properly look at his guardian.

“You're late,” Bilbo says cheekily, but his smile wavers as he watches the old man chuckle at his expense. Somehow, now that his father is gone and Bilbo is mourning, there is no place for happiness anymore.

“I always show up precisely when I mean to,” Gandalf says, and Bilbo shakes his head in amusement. Gandalf still looks the same even after the five years they haven’t seen each other, but then he hasn't looked any different since the first time Bilbo had seen him, either.

The sun is going down quickly, the October day coming to an end, and they relocate into Bag End almost immediately when the shadows begin to grow. Bilbo serves tea for the both of them and they sit down in front of the fireplace like they'd always done. They settle into a comfortable silence, both their thoughts far away as they nurse their mugs of tea between their cold hands.

Bilbo is loathe to break it, opening and closing his mouth a few times, only stopping as Gandalf raises an eyebrow at him, and Bilbo’s mouth clicks shut with an audible snap.

“Bilbo, you have never been one to hesitate, why would you now?” Why indeed, Bilbo clucks to himself. The old man is watching him carefully now, scrutinizing him with his gaze as he appears to be expecting something Bilbo isn't sure he knows how to give.

“My mother, do you know where she is?” he asks at last, and Gandalf’s face falls. He sighs deeply, and his brows furrow as if he was trying to remember something that was long ago.

“I only nudged her out her front door, and let her do as she pleased. She always insisted she would come back. I do not know where she is now, I don’t believe anybody knows bar a select few.”

With a start, Bilbo sits upright in his chair. “So she is alive!” he exclaims. “Wait, what do you mean only a selected few?”

Gandalf sighs that heavy sigh of his, the one that makes Bilbo wary whenever he hears it, and reaches into his robe to search for something. The old man pulls out what seems to be an ancient script roll, which looks frayed and torn at the edges. Like Gandalf had been carrying it with him for a long time indeed.

He gestures for Bilbo to follow him into the kitchen where he spreads the paper out on the table, and the face of Belladonna Baggins appears to steal the breath right out of Bilbo’s lungs. His knees give way so that he has to clutch at the table top to keep him upright. She smiles on that one, is the first thought that comes to his mind.

“That she does.” Gandalf nodded, and Bilbo realized that he had been talking out loud. The world started spinning again, and Belladonna continued to smile, as if she was proud to be displayed underneath the WANTED sign, in all her glory. Knowing the stories of his father, she probably was.

“Wanted?” He whispers, utterly dumbfounded. “Why is she wanted? What did she do?” Gandalf had been watching him, and now caught his gaze with his own. Bilbo couldn’t quite decipher the expression on the old man’s face.

“It’s a miracle that you never got any news on her. Well, she probably made sure you never heard of her.” He huffed fondly, ignoring Bilbo’s angry glare. “She is the leader of the revolutionary army that operates against injustice caused by the marine and the pirates.”

Bilbo frowned. “Such an organization exists?” Gandalf laughed at what he himself called “the adorable I am thinking too hard face”, but quickly turns it into coughing when the smaller man sends him a glare.

“I told you already that she may have prevented you from knowing anything of her.” Bilbo’s mouth turns down then, and his eyes fill with tears again. He brushes them away with a frustrated gesture and motions Gandalf to continue. “She didn’t want anyone to know that you and your father are associated with her. Nobody knows that she had been married and given birth to a son.”

The young man mulls the new information over, and Gandalf lets himself gaze at Bella’s picture again. She had used her maiden name, and he still finds that Belladonna Took has an altogether different ring to it than Belladonna Baggins. Not that he’d tell anyone, but he’d liked it when she’d introduced herself to various people, her new surname completely forgotten. Gandalf knows that he is biased, but he really can’t help it.

He doesn’t see a set of green eyes widen in realization, so similar to Bella’s, and neither does he notice the sadness that is quickly hidden when those very same eyes turn away to study the picture, too, instead.

After a while Bilbo clears his throat, straightening up, and effectively shakes Gandalf out of his reminiscing. “We should head to bed. We can talk more tomorrow, I imagine.” Bilbo says, and the older man nods and puts the script back into his grey robes. “The guest room is made up, just like always.” With that the younger man turns away to bank the fire that is still burning merrily in the living room, and to put away the cups of tea.

“Good night, my boy.” Gandalf murmurs. “Sweet dreams.”

 

“Let me tell you, Gandalf, I had the most disturbing dream!” Bilbo exclaims as he burst into the kitchen where The Wizard was reading the morning paper. He looks up over the rim of said paper and watches his godson muttering and puttering around as he made them breakfast. “You see, I was in this old haunted house, and I somehow already knew that a murder had happened in there.” He carries over the tea service, along with bread and jam, so Gandalf just hums and grabs at the bread and jam. “And then I fall off a cliff, wake up when the house is restored again, and I know that the murder is about to happen.” Bilbo sits down himself and begins to spread butter over a piece of bread before slathering it with jam. With a mouth full of bread he continues: “So of course I go inside to help, because honestly, that is the right thing to do.”

At that point, he is interrupted. “Don’t eat too much now, Bilbo. I still have a present for you.” Bilbo’s mouth opens and closes a few times, his proper Baggins side screaming outrage at being so rudely interrupted. He is curious, though, and likes receiving presents, so he forgives Gandalf and nods graciously. The old man chuckles at the sour expression on his face and Bilbo is tempted to just stick out his tongue at him. He does so, and the resulting laughter manages to put a small smile on his face, too.

“A present?” The smaller man asks finally, eagerly, as they are sitting in companiable silence. The platters have been cleared away, and Gandalf is smoking his pipe. Bilbo’s fingers itch for his own, but he resists the urge and instead stuffs his hands beneath his legs. He looks up at Gandalf with wide eyes, the way he’s always done when he was young and demanding stories. The old man lifts an eyebrow right back at him, but Bilbo won’t be deterred. They stare at each other for a while until Gandalf sighs and reaches inside his robes once more.

“Just as bad as your mother…” The old man grumbles, but Bilbo ignores him and watches Gandalf’s face. He’s always found it wonderfully expressive, and he never tires looking at the face that makes him want to run after the adventure he is searching for.

As said face adopts a puzzled look, the wizard’s search grows frantic, and Bilbo starts to bounce up and down in his seat. He only stops when Gandalf shoots him an annoyed glare. The younger man slumps his shoulders, wilting like one of his flowers in Bag End’s garden, and for a brief moment the godfather huffs out a breath and feels remorse. For a moment. The next, he lets out a triumphant loud as his fingertips touch the jarred surface of the fruit he’s been searching.

Bilbo perks up again, eyes wide once more, and yanks at Gandalf’s sleeve to get him to reveal the mysterious present faster. Gandalf yanks it back with an aggravated sigh and lays the fruit into Bilbo’s outstretched hands.

He lets his godson gaze at the item in wonder, but only for a while. He’s about to explain to him what it exactly is he’s holding, but before he can open his mouth, Bilbo lunged forward and buried his teeth in the strange smelling fruit, as if he can’t help himself. With horror Gandalf watches Bilbo devour the entire thing by himself, and drags a hand down his face, hoping to bury that moment deep into his memory, never to be looked at again.

When the young man is done, The Wizard asks: “Why did you eat all of it? How did you eat all of it? By Eru, Bilbo, you shouldn’t have been able to do that!”

Bilbo blinks at him, clearly not understanding why Gandalf seems so agitated. “I can eat everything.” He tells him seriously, and leaves the old man gaping where he is to go wash his hands.

The fruit has tasted sweet, and crisp, like the breeze that sweeps through his garden from time to time. It has immediately reminded him of Bag End, of home. He can’t really describe it, and yet he feels different. The sound of leaves rustling from outside lures him from the kitchen sink to its open window and yellow curtains. He grips the windowsill tightly, using his grip to push himself up and get a better look at the leaves flying by.

“The oak is shedding its leaves.” He quietly murmurs, and an unexpected feeling of sadness and longing fills him. Longing to make it better, to take away the pain.

Before he knows it, he’s jumped out the window and is on his way to the back of his garden, stretching out his hand to touch the bark of the tree that had shielded him throughout his childhood. Bilbo remembers reading underneath the branches, sunlight filtering through, remembers climbing the tree to hide when he’d felt the absence of his mother and it seemed as if he couldn’t get enough breath inside the walls of Bag End, remembers defending it with a broom when ravens had tried to perch and nest in it.

He traces the bark almost mindlessly, if it weren’t for the reverent look in his eyes, and it seems to soften beneath his palm. When he leans his forehead against it, it seems to breathe in sync with him. It welcomes him in and makes him smile like he hasn’t in months.

“My dear friend, my oak tree, you always make me feel better.” He sighs out, and the tree sighs with him. Something falling down onto his head makes him startle and instinctively reach for the spot where it had fallen to rub the pain away. He is frowning now, looking up at the old oak tree as if it had lost its mind. But it doesn’t answer, not this time, and Bilbo crouches down to look for the object. It is half buried beneath leaves and difficult to see amidst all the brown colors. Bilbo still manages to grab it on his first try, lifting and examining it.

An acorn.

It fit neatly into his palm, and the young man smiled down on it in admiration for a small while. “A parting gift?” He asks, voice tight with emotion. “You’ve never bloomed before.” With sudden desperation Bilbo rushes forward and wraps his short arms around the trunk, presses his face into the soft, soft bark and lets a sob escape his mouth.

“I won’t let you be alone for too long.” He promises, “I’ll come back.”

It takes him a while, but finally he steps back and wipes at his face to get rid of the wetness there. When he turns, there are flowers. Everywhere. The freshest looking ones seemed to grow in a line from the kitchen window to Bilbo’s feet, right where he stands. Several more sprout where he stands barefoot in the grass, and to his astonishment they grow higher and higher until they poke at his nose.

“GANDALF!!!” He yells, and vaguely hears his godfather laughing from the kitchen window. “What the hell is going on!?”


	2. Introducing Thorin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the tin, as well as more Gandalf and Bilbo bonding time, and finally, Bree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Ash, for looking this over and beta'ing this damn thing I know it isn't easy, and thank you Mags, for being as enthusiastic about it as I am. Couldn't have done this without you two :)

Previously…

“GANDALF!!!” He yells, and vaguely hears his godfather laughing from the kitchen window. “What the hell is going on!?”

…

Gandalf climbs out the window after him all the while chuckling to himself, as if Bilbo covered in flowers is the best thing he’s ever seen, and his godson is hard pressed not to tell him to shut up. No, he patiently waits for the old man to reach him before he opens his mouth again. He doesn’t want to accidentally eat a flower or something. Oh no, those days are over.

“Bilbo, my boy, what have you gotten yourself into?” Gandalf asks looking at the little patches of colourful daffodils, elderflowers and flax. “Hm, what an unusual colour choice.” Gandalf thinks about it for a moment and ignores the glare sent his way. Bilbo’s eyes are now a vibrant green, and Gandalf is only a tad surprised to see the change. 

“I don’t care about the colours, Gandalf,” Bilbo whines, and the daffodils seem to hang their heads. “Where do they come from?”

“Why, you made them!” The old man exclaims, and Bilbo looks at him as if he’s lost his mind. Gandalf ignores him again, a reoccurring theme Bilbo has come to almost loathe, but he takes a few deep breaths and almost misses the rest of Gandalf’s explanation. “You ate that fruit, did you not?”

“What does that have to do with these flowers?” He asks, batting a few ridiculously long stalks away and making a frustrated noise when they bounce back and hit him in the face. Gandalf throws his head back as he laughs and he only stops when the same thing happens to him, making Bilbo laugh out loud for the first time in a long time. The old man splutters out a curse, but rights himself soon enough.

Gandalf clears his throat before answering. “It was a devil’s fruit. A one of a kind. It gives the one who eats it special powers suited to their needs. The one I gave to you makes it easier for you to connect to nature. In your case, this means you’ll probably have no trouble encouraging plants to grow. That is if I understand your powers correctly, and from what I've seen that seems to be the case.”

Bilbo continues to stare, frown, and purse his lips as he contemplates the information he has been given. Gandalf finds that he is the perfect mirror to Bella, and smiles slightly. “Everything alright, my boy?” he asks softly.

“I’m not so sure, to be honest,” Bilbo murmurs, and he looks close to fainting. “Why didn’t you tell me before I ate it?” His tone becomes accusing, but Gandalf doesn’t want to hear it. He shakes his head, but Bilbo isn’t done yet. “Can this be undone?” he demands.

The old man sighs. “Bilbo, I won’t have you blame me on things that are not my fault,” he reprimands, and Bilbo ducks his head in shame. “I would have explained, but need I remind you that you were the one eating that thing and then running off before I could even speak?” Bilbo pouts and sulks for a bit, but nods after a moment after appearing to find no fault in Gandalf’s explanation. “I’m sorry to tell you," Gandalf continues, "but you’ll have to live with your powers for the rest of your life.”

Bilbo whips his head up. “There’s more, isn’t there?” He asks with trepidation, and Gandalf nods slowly. “Out with it, then,” Bilbo adds as he flaps about a hand which disturbs the flowers yet again, and in a fit of frustration, he stomps his foot and the flowers disappear.

“You won’t be able to swim,” Gandalf says after a long moment of silence and Bilbo looks close to tears. 

His garden has become desolate. The grass has wilted, the oak tree gone. “What have I done?” Bilbo whispers as Gandalf lays a hand on his shoulder and he looks at him with horror as he pleads, “Gandalf?”

His voice is a far cry from the frustration he used the last time he had called his godfather by his name, and the old man’s heart breaks a little bit inside. “Make them grow again,” he instructs, and Bilbo’s shaking body stills beneath his hand. “I know you can do it.”

“How?” Bilbo asks, but he is already closing his eyes and Gandalf takes a step back to watch the scene unfurling around him. The young man begins to glow a healthy green and crouches down to bury his hands in the soil. Immediately the ground seems to loosen and… breathe/. Little flower buds sprout and come to life, blooming not a second later as they grow and grow.

By the time Bilbo opens his eyes again the garden is covered in flowers of various colours and a path made out of naturally grown wood leads through it. It ends right beneath a freshly grown oak that towers over the garden. Bilbo gazes at the tree with some resignation and sighs. “That’s not my oak tree. But at least I have the acorn, I guess.” He shrugs, but his godfather sees the sadness in his eyes.

Bilbo makes his way back to the front of the house, with Gandalf following him at a more sedate pace, and he picks up several angelicas, bellflowers and lisianthus up on the way. Their stalks twine together almost on their own accord to form a bouquet which prompts a surprised sound from the young man as he notices.

He stops on the steps leading to Bag End’s front door and contemplates the flowers in his hands. He huffs a quiet laugh before he turns and shoves the bouquet into Gandalf’s arms. “Will you hold onto those for me?” He asks. “They won’t wilt, for as long as I live.”

The Wizard is visibly surprised, but nods and even has a smile for Bilbo. “Then I will cherish them.”

Bilbo nods back, but pauses again with a hand on the door knob. “You have one, too, don’t you? A… power?” The young man glances back at Gandalf and is met with stunned silence, then with a shake of the head.

“Let’s go inside, before your neighbours start gossiping again,” Gandalf says finally, and Bilbo pushes open the door so the two of them can hurry inside. By the time they reach the kitchen again and close the window there, the bouquet of flowers has mysteriously disappeared and Bilbo once again cleans his hands in the kitchen sink. 

“They always gossip when you come visit, Gandalf, and not just because of your magical fireworks.” 

The old man holds up a finger in response to the silent question, and little sparks begin to dance above the raised tip of his finger. Bilbo breathes out a tiny “wow”, obviously charmed by the little display, and Gandalf chuckles, delighted to gain such a response. It had always given him the most joy to see children happy, even if Bilbo doesn’t really fit that category anymore. One always does make exceptions for one’s own child, Gandalf muses.

With a snap the sparkling ceases, and Bilbo’s instant response is an unhappy sigh. He had sat down next to Gandalf to better watch the small demonstration, and had laid his chin on the open palm of one hand. 

“I think it is high time we started discussing your future ventures,” Gandalf says after a quiet moment. Bilbo tilts his head to look at him questioningly and Gandalf pulls out a map of the isles closest to The Shire. He continues to talk while pointing to several places on it. Judging by Bilbo’s gasp, his godson shares his enthusiasm for old papers. “The next marine base is in Bree," he says as he points out the isle, "and your grandfather is the Captain. I advise you to start gathering information there. I will take you there on my boat, until we find you a crew and a proper ship.”

Bilbo stills, and Gandalf watches him warily, but soon enough a small smile takes over his face.

“When do we leave?”

 

A week later, with instructions to the Gamgees to take care of Bag End during his absence although Bilbo doesn’t expect to be gone long, Bilbo embarks on a boat for the first time in his life. For a moment he isn’t sure how all of this will work because the boat sways disconcertingly and Bilbo has to clutch at the railing to keep himself from falling over, and Gandalf, could you please stop laughing?

The first night sleeping in a small cabin makes him claustrophobic. He ends up taking his pillow and blanket to cuddle up next to Gandalf who is on watch and gazing at the stars. His mind seems far, far away and, unprompted, he begins to talk of lands far away he has traveled with in his little boat, the “Grey Istari”, and the many different people he has met. 

Bilbo falls asleep to the story of the tree trolls that had managed to put Gandalf’s companions into sacks, and the way Gandalf had swooped in to rescue them. The old man watches his godson’s sleeping face with a fond smile of his own. He briefly wonders if that is what it would have been like if he had taken Bilbo with him years ago. But alas, Bella had wanted her son to have a choice. Bilbo has made a decision now, and he will do his utmost to support him.

…

On the third morning at sea, the isle of Bree and it’s marine base come into view. Bilbo, who has been on watch for the last few hours, whoops in joy and scrambles over to where Gandalf is studying a compass and frowning. He tugs on the old man’s long robes and sprouts anemones in his hair as if they are part of his curls. Gandalf isn’t completely sure that Bilbo notices the flowers as the old man catches sight of them, but looks towards the horizon where Bilbo is pointing to.

“Is that Bree?” Bilbo asks as if he was ten years old again, excited beyond measure, and Gandalf smiles down on him.

“That is Bree, my boy,” Gandalf agrees as he gets up and steers them towards the small port on the southern side of the isle. “Long has it been since I’ve been here last.” 

Bilbo follows after him, feet planted securely on the planks like Gandalf had taught him, and watches the ever nearing bustling port. Bilbo practically vibrates with excitement and the flowers in his hair glow brighter; his godfather simply chuckles and runs a hand through the unruly curls.

Bilbo leaps out of the little boat the first time the ship actually grazes the stone of the pier, glad to have steady ground beneath his feet again. He’s overenthusiastic though, and his knees buckle and cause him to fall gracelessly until he manages to hold himself up. Although that appears to be out of sheer instinct. Once he’s righted he notices people looking at him oddly and he looks down on himself and… ah, there are actually two solid wooden pillars. Both perfectly at the right height for Bilbo to lean on. He's still puzzling over them when Gandalf comes up next to him to discuss their further plans for the day and Bilbo doesn’t catch the way the old man rolls his eyes at his antics.

“I suggest you go further up and visit your grandfather. I’m worried about him.” 

Bilbo hums pensively. “Worried? Why?”

“Just a feeling. Something is different from the last time I visited this place. Be careful, Bilbo.” Gandalf frowns, and Bilbo knows not to underestimate the severity of the situation, especially when the old man’s frown is this mighty.

His godfather is already walking away as he calls after him. “And what will you be doing!?”

“I have business to attend to! We’ll meet here again when the sun goes down!” The old man turns around one last time, startling Bilbo slightly, and calls “Impulse control!” with a cheeky grin that makes him look decades younger. Bilbo isn’t sure how to respond to that, confused at the non-sequitur, but nonetheless waves after the man until he is out of sight.

That leaves him with a whole day by himself, Bilbo realises, something he hasn’t had in more than a week. He’s not sure whether to feel relieved or frightened. He’s always wanted to see more of the world, but he has never imagined himself being alone while doing so. This is his chance, he has to remind himself, this is the chance he’s been waiting for almost all of his life. 

After contemplating the long winding road ahead of him, he resolutely straightens his shoulders and takes his first steps towards what will be no doubt be just the adventure he needs.

 

It's a while later that he realises he’s made a slight mistake when he turns up another slope, after multiple other turns, and the only thing he sees is a truly hideous wall instead of the main gate he’s been looking for. He doesn’t even know in which direction he has to go to find it, and by now his feet hurt. He longs for some good, healthy soil he can push his toes into but every street he’s traveled so far has been paved. Bilbo has to crane his neck up to even catch a glimpse of the top of the wall and sighs. It would be so much easier if he could just climb up and take a look, but the surface is flat and smooth. Impossible to catch a hold of.

If he could just reach out and somehow haul himself up, he thinks, and barely has time to think before a thick vine shoots out of the palm of his hand, reaching up and up until it curls over the top of the wall. A slight tug from Bilbo is the only encouragement it needs to take him with it to the top and he can curl his other hand around the wall. Then he hauls his legs up and sits on top of the wall and, oh dear, he’s never been good with heights. He tries not to look down, but it is difficult not to stress at all at the turn of events.

He dangles his feet over the edge and briefly contemplates jumping down before quickly shaking his head as soon as he gets the idea. No way will he be jumping a down a ten feet wall. No. Way. 

“HEY!” A loud voice rings out and startles him enough to almost drop, had he not have suddenly grown roots that kept him sitting up where he was. “YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO SIT THERE!”

Bilbo notices, when he looks up and searches for the voice's source, that the deep angry voice belongs to a dark haired man tied to a pole. He’s sure the marine says more, but as soon as Bilbo catches sight of light blue eyes and locks that gaze with his own, he’s in a trance. Something hums in his pocket and he realises it is his acorn and the impossibly blue eyes come closer and closer until they’re directly in front of his own. Bilbo feels stubble beneath his palm and breath upon his lips as the blue eyes mirror the colour of the forget-me-nots in his hair.

“My oak…” he murmurs and the eyes widen while he says it, unable to look away for fear this familiar soul might fade away. “Ouch!” He exclaims, as he’s wrenched from the warm presence before him, and belatedly he realises that the dark haired man must have given him a swift kick to the stomach.

“Ouch,” he says again, but strangely his stomach doesn’t hurt all that much. Something falls to the floor, another sound distracting him from the heavy breathing his counterpart mirrors, and he’s surprised by the bark that slowly peels back from the foot that the marine has still outstretched towards him, and he stares as he demands, “what was that for?”

The man stares at him for a bit with wide, unbelieving eyes, then huffs out a quiet mocking laugh that makes Bilbo’s temper flare. “What that was for?” He snaps, clearly not awaiting an answer from Bilbo, “you, kiddo, invaded my personal space and besides, you're on marine’s property. I'm sure you're not supposed to be here.” 

Bilbo brushes down his clothes and tilts his head to calm himself down as he studies the man some more. He’s not sure how much he can tell him, especially since he doesn’t seem very trustworthy. 

“I’m visiting family,” he settles on saying after thinking about his options for a bit. The marine is terribly rude, but Bilbo’s manners dictate him to ignore that. “And," he continues saying after a pause, "I’m a grown man, you know.” 

The dark haired man snorts, strands of hair escaping his already messy ponytail as he shakes his head. They fall into his eyes and he angrily blows air out of his nose as a frustrated noise escapes him. Bilbo giggles at the unexpected sight, only laughing harder when the man lets out a growl.

The marine looks livid and Bilbo crosses his arms with great satisfaction, because the other man is not able to, with his arms tied up and all.

“What did you do to get up there?” The grumpy man asks hesitantly, as if he’d rather not talk at all, but does so anyway. There are no people around, as Bilbo finds out when he spins around once to look where he'd come from. The man must be lonely, then.

“What did you do?” He demands right back, and when the marine remains silent he feels the need to point out the man's situation. “I’m not the one stuck to a pole," he says with a smug grin, and the man’s upper lip twitches. Bilbo's sure the man will laugh, but he reigns himself in and adopts a blank face once more. The blond man sighs.

“Oh well," he says cheerily, "I must be off!” 

He looks around again and points to a large building to his right. The stranger’s eyes follow the path his finger makes. 

“Is this where Gerontius Took has his office?” He asks. The man nods stiffly and looks away again. Bilbo feels oddly sad to leave him here, but he has questions that need to be answered. 

He clears his throat one last time, and catches the man’s attention briefly. “See you!” He calls and waves, only belatedly realising that the other can’t wave back after a moment, and he sends a silent apology as he disappears across to the building with his grandfather waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower meanings:
> 
> daffodils - new beginnings  
> elderflowers - compassion  
> flax - i feel your kindness
> 
> Gandalf's bouquet:
> 
> angelicas - inspiration  
> bellflowers - gratitude  
> lisianthus - appreciation
> 
> anemone - anticipation  
> forget-me-nots - do not forget me
> 
> I'm thorin-wiggles on tumblr, if you ever want to talk :)


	3. *Cecil Voice* What a jerk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saving Thorin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Ash, for beta-ing. You're a darling. You're in my thoughts, Mags, please know you are loved.

The building is strangely unfitting for his grandfather, Bilbo finds as he jogs closer. It reaches high into the sky, gray and ugly and overall not at all warm and inviting, and the young man is unable to reconcile that image with his memory of a laughing grandfather who had let him sit on the elder’s knee, bouncing him up and down as he giggled and clapped his hands. There is a commotion up on the roof that distracts Bilbo as he approaches and he cranes his neck up to see better.

He blames his curious Took side when he doesn’t notice the door opening and it smacks him in the forehead in the process.

“Why is it always the _head_ ,” he mutters with a whine, and he hears a giggle in response. A giggle he knows well. He looks up and sees his cousin standing there and can’t help but smile at the familiar face. “Esme,” he cheers, but the woman cuts him off as she draws him into a hug, startling him.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you!” Her voice is muffled by the fabric of his shirt, but he can understand her well enough nonetheless. “It’s been years,” she continues as she draws back again. “Look at you, all grown up… well, not _grown_ , but you know.”

Bilbo refrains from telling her that he’s the older one out of them, and pats her arm. Despite his maturity though, the blond man sends her a glare which causes her to laugh at her own wit. He lets her, pointedly not commenting on her height. She’s always been smaller than him, damn it.

“It’s good to see you, but I’m actually here to visit Old Took. Would you mind escorting me?”

Her face slips into a blank mask, but not before showing a quick grimace that has Bilbo standing straighter in response. Clearly Gandalf has been right to say that something is amiss, Bilbo thinks, remembering the ugly wall and building in front of him.

“The Captain should be available at this time of the day,” she says in an orderly voice, raising her hand in a salute. Bilbo briefly wonders if he should raise his hand too, but Esme already carries on. “After you,” she says and holds the door open for him. “This way, Sir.”, she continues, grabbing him at the elbow and steering him down the corridor. Bilbo raises an eyebrow at the barely concealed smirk Esme sports, but chooses to stay silent.

“I heard shouting, Sir. Is everything alright?” Esme asks as they ascend yet another flight of stairs. Bilbo now realises she has to treat him like that to preserve a professional air befitting both their stations.

“Oh, you heard that?” Bilbo scratches at his head, managing not to disrupt the marjoram in his hair as the tips of his ears go pink. “I’m afraid the marine didn’t like what I was doing.”

“Yeah, he has a big… _organ_. Usually the whole base is aware when he’s in one of his moods.” Esme lets out a giggle at that but quickly stops when another marine comes around the corner and salutes her.

“Did you get promoted?” Bilbo asks with a frown and his cousin fidgets under his gaze, although soon a proud smile brightens up her face.

“I'm now a Warrant Officer!” Esmeralda confesses excitedly, and Bilbo has no idea what that means in terms of rank. But he’s happy for her anyway and tells her how amazing she is. She can obviously see he has no idea though, and she rolls her eyes as she explains. “I’m in charge of everyone below me now, since Durin got tied to that pole out in the back.”

“Durin? You mean that dark haired jerk?” Bilbo asks derisively, remembering the rude man with the beautiful eyes.

“Thorin “Oakenshield” Durin," Esme corrects. “He’s Lieutenant. Well, he was," she adds as an afterthought.

“More like Thorin “I have no manners and startle unsuspecting people to almost fall from walls” Durin,” Bilbo mutters under his breath and Esme snorts out a laugh. 

They stop in front of a big metal door, which instantly makes Bilbo feel unwelcome and uneasy. “So what did he do to end up like that?” he asks, trying to stall so he doesn’t have to go into Old Took’s office just yet.

“I’ll tell you later,” Esme says with a wink, and knocks on the door. Bilbo swallows down the lump that has formed in his throat and straightens his shoulders.

“Enter,” a deep scratchy voice sounds from the other door, and his cousin takes position next to it after saluting him one last time.

Taking a deep breath, he reluctantly opens the door and steps into the office. The anemones in his hair glow brighter in response. The first thing he notices is a big portrait of what must be a younger version of his grandfather right above a giant mahogany desk with stacks of paper and an inkwell and feather. In the back of his mind he registers someone closing the door behind him, but he’s too busy letting his eyes roam along the rest of the room.

The walls are littered with sea maps with pin needles on them to signify different routes, stations, and tactics. They're only disrupted by a large window that takes over a large majority of one of the wall, and that is where Bilbo spots his grandfather who is already watching him.

He looks different, Bilbo notices immediately. His eyes aren’t the same sharp green anymore but have turned milky over time, yet still he stands tall with his shoulders squared. The Captain’s coat is decorated with different medals and they gleam when rays of sun hit them. His grandfather doesn’t even offer him a smile, only studies him with indifference.

Bilbo clears his throat. “I’m sorry for the spontaneous visit, but I’ve wanted to talk to you for a bit, Grandpa.” The familial name seems to light a spark in his grandfather’s eyes, and he goes over to finally shake Bilbo’s hand.

“We’ve not seen each other in a long time, have we?” he asks with the same scratchy voice that sends a disconcerting shiver down Bilbo’s spine. “I have been so busy with work lately, I can’t even remember whose child you are.” he continues as he sits down behind his desk and motions Bilbo to sit down in the one in front of it. Bilbo refrains from scooting back and away from the desk, but just barely. His knees press uncomfortably into the wood.

“I’m the only son of your oldest daughter, Belladonna," he says carefully, gauging the old man’s reaction. Old Took’s eyes snap further open to stare in contempt at him, and Bilbo barely stifles a gasp.

“Are you here to enlist and do your family proud, or are you going to disappoint me like your mother.” he grounds out with a ferocity Bilbo's never seen before. Bilbo winces and averts his eyes when spit comes flying his way. This is definitely not how he'd expected his visit to go, he thinks.

Bilbo’s eyes land on a scabbard for a sword, an axe, and a curiously formed shield made out of oak wood. He points at them, distracting his grandfather from the tirade he hasn’t been listening to. “Do they belong to the Lieutenant?” he asks, curious beyond measure.

Old Took clears his throat, and Bilbo turns to look at him fully. “That man will be discharged and executed in the next two days," Old Took spits and this time Bilbo can’t help but make a shocked noise and accidentally rams his knees into the wood of the desk.

His grandfather seems to think for a while, watching Bilbo out of the corner of one eye. His grandson watches him warily in return, not knowing what to expect. Suddenly the old man smiles, and Bilbo feels as if there’s a different man sitting opposite him.

“I have an offer for you.” he says, startling Bilbo out of his musings. “If you enlist, I will gift you these fine items and you can use them in any way you want.”

 _No_ , Bilbo wants to say. He's just curious about them because they belong to _Thorin_.

Instead he smiles. “Can I take them with me right now and ask Esme to give me the forms I have to fill out?” he asks. There’s already a reckless plan forming in his head, and he fervently hopes his grandfather doesn’t see the panic in his eyes.

Just in this moment the door opens and Esme scrambles in gracelessly, breathing somewhat erratically. Her salute Old Took acknowledges with a nod.

“Sir, the men need help with the statue on the roof.” Her gaze briefly meets Bilbo’s panicked eyes, but immediately returns to her superior to await further orders.

Bilbo wonders if Esme might have heard their conversation, but dismisses the thought again. The walls aren’t that thin, are they?

Their grandfather clicks his tongue, clearly annoyed at being interrupted, but nods soon enough. “I will be along shortly.” Then, he turns to Bilbo. “I want you to go with Warrant Officer Took now. She will show you the quarters you’ll be staying in. Take the weapons and shield with you.” The old man nods to himself again, clearly happy that things have gone the way he wants and leaves his office grumbling under his breath about useless Privates.

Esme and Bilbo sag in relief at the same time, letting out sighs and dragging their hands down their faces.

“Oh Esme, you saved me a lot of trouble right now," he breathes out and his cousin nods in agreement.

“You don’t truly wish to enlist, do you?” she asks, already knowing the answer. One look at Bilbo’s face confirms it. “Of course not. God, Bilbo, what am I supposed to do with you now?”

This time, Bilbo hastily scrapes the chair back to sit up, revealing two groves in the wood of the desk at the height of his knees. He quickly scoops up the items promised to him and turns back around to his cousin.

“Take me to Thorin please?” he asks, widening his eyes for effect. Esme rolls hers in retaliation.

“What exactly are you planning, Bilbo?” she wants to know, eyeing him with fond exasperation, trying to figure out his motives.

“Well,” Bilbo starts, fidgeting under her gaze, “I’m going to save Thorin.”

…

“Oh, this is a horrible, _horrible_ idea.” Esme pants out in front of him, holding fast to his wrist as they race down the stairs to reach the training grounds. “I don’t know why I agreed.”

Bilbo’s face is the perfect image of incredulity. “I didn’t ask you for your help,” he snorts out, but his cousin ignores the input.

“They’ll discharge me, _dishonorably_ , I’m sure of it.”, she goes on, yelping when she crashes into someone. “Saradoc!”, she exclaims, after Bilbo helped her up again.

The ginger grinned at the unexpected sight of her, despite him landing on his bottom. He quickly scrambles up. “Warrant Officer, how nice to see you!” he exclaims, and his freckles seem to dance over his nose. “Why would they discharge you? You’re wonderful!”

“Esme, are you blushing?” Bilbo splutters, and they only now seem to realise that Bilbo is there to call them out on their behaviour. She slaps a hand over his mouth, and nods to Saradoc.

”I was just joking. Saradoc, get back to work!”

With a quick ‘yes’, the young man hurries past them, and Esme grins fondly after him.

Bilbo clears his throat and effectively startles her out of her daze, causing her to take his wrist again and making them sprint through the hallways, effectively dodging everyone else walking into the opposite direction now.

“Almost there,” she murmurs, rushing through the main door and out into the sunlight. For a moment, Bilbo has to shield his eyes from the sun, but the sensation soon fades. When his vision works again, they’re already halfway to the pole Thorin is bound to.

He hears them coming and raises his blue eyes to watch them, obviously surprised to see them there.

At last, they reach him, doubling over and panting. Bilbo has to hold his aching sides and lets the weapons and shield slide to the ground in front of Thorin’s feet.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Thorin utters, eyeing his weapons with relief. He doesn’t look as cross as the first time he’s said it.

Bilbo sighs anyway, “Yes, we know. But at least you’re not shouting anymore,” he mutters, as Esme whips out a knife from her belt hidden underneath her uniform, and begins cutting Thorin’s ropes free.

Thorin’s eyes widen comically as he sees it, too surprised to take offense to Bilbo’s words. “Stop that!” he exclaims. “My punishment isn’t up yet! Esmeralda!”

“Stop this wiggling and shouting, or do you want anyone to see us?” Bilbo’s cousin snaps right back, and Thorin’s horrified gaze swings to Bilbo instead.

Another sigh escapes him as he explains, “Old Took ordered you be dishonorably discharged and executed in two days. Do you want to die that way or do you want to live?” he asks, staring intently into the other’s eyes.

Thorin is quiet for a few moments, looking at his feet where his weapons lay. “Why are you helping me?” he asks right back, clearly confused. “What’s in it for you?”

“Look, I know you doubt my intentions, Thorin Durin, but Esme told me what happened and about what you did for the people here. My grandfather has no right to punish you for protecting an innocent child, in fact he should be taking after you and looking after the people just as much as what Esme has said you have been doing. You’re a good man, Thorin, and you deserve more than just being strung up awaiting an execution for a wrong you haven't even committed. You deserve so much _more_.”

By the end of his small impromptu speech, Esme has managed to free one of Thorin’s arms, going over to the next and she and Bilbo switch places. Thorin’s gaze follows Bilbo as he moves.

“Thorin Durin, at your service,” the man finally rasps, holding out his hand for Bilbo to shake.

Bilbo grins at the unexpected gesture, and decides to forgive Thorin for his previous rudeness right then. “Bilbo Baggins, at yours," he says cheerfully, taking the man’s hand and shaking it. Thorin’s grip is surprisingly gentle and warm, and makes chervil bloom in Bilbo’s hair.

A multitude of quick, approaching footsteps shatters the moment, and the three look up to see a small battalion storming towards them.

“Behind me, Esme. Hurry,” Bilbo says, coming to stand in front of her and shoving her fully behind him. She resumes cutting at the ropes with only a few worried glances at Bilbo, and Bilbo fears they won’t be enough to free Thorin in time. He spreads his arms anyway, taking up as much space as he can to cover them both. It isn’t much, but he thinks that it helps at least a bit.

The soldiers ready and aim their guns just as Gerontius Took comes up behind them, and Bilbo in turn buries his toes into the dirt, determined not to budge an inch.

“Bilbo, you’re unarmed. You’ll die!” Esme hisses behind him, sounding just as afraid as Bilbo feels. He can hear Thorin grunting in exertion, and Bilbo knows that he’s working to get himself free.

“I’d rather die protecting friends than let my grandfather kill an innocent man for doing his job,” he says through clenched teeth, hardly able to open his mouth. Thorin makes an odd sound behind him, but he pays the man no heed.

“Betrayers, all of you!” his grandfather growls, motioning for his soldiers to get ready one last time. “I’ll execute all three of you right now!” His soldiers are visibly dreading the moment they have to shoot, but are more afraid to disagree with their Captain and get punished as a result. “ _FIRE_!”

At the command, Bilbo braces himself and closes his eyes, praying that he’ll be able to protect his friends. There’s the sound of impact and splintering wood, and Bilbo is propelled backwards, only the roots at his feet keeping him upright.

If he could see himself now, he’d know he's covered in wood from head to toe, bits and pieces all over his body dented in and destroyed, splinters sticking out and trickling to the ground.

When he cares to come back to himself, he opens his eyes and is met with stunned silence and wide eyed expressions, all focused on him. “Did I do something?” he asks, but his voice sounds all wrong, deep and ancient, cracking like wood when it's broken.

“Bilbo,” Esme begins warily, “since when can you do that?” It causes Bilbo to look down at himself, and the wood that covers him disappears slowly.

“I really have no idea,” he says, turning around and tilting his head helplessly. “This is the first time I've done it.” There are oak leaves woven into his hair now and some flutter to the ground beside him.

Thorin shakes his head as if to clear it a little. “You’re a devil’s fruit user.” It’s a statement, not a question, so Bilbo simply nods and purses his lips. “I underestimated you. I apologize.”

But Bilbo already shakes his head and turns back around to face his raging grandfather. “No need to apologize," he says, and _finally_ Thorin gets his other arm free.

“Allow me to help you,” he mutters, donning his weapons and shield, ready for battle in mere seconds. He strides past Bilbo with confident steps, and Bilbo can see the other soldiers visibly blanch from where he stands.

Thorin cuts through the enemy lines easily, with an enviable grace that Bilbo tries not to gawk at. It takes him several moments to even think to help, but when he does it’s not difficult to reach out with his vines and smack the weapons out of the soldier’s hands that have managed to get behind Thorin and try to get at his unprotected back.

It doesn’t take much longer for them to dispose of the rest, Esme helping out by shooting at their legs with her handgun with surprisingly good aim. When they're done, they grin at each other, clearly relieved that it all worked out so well.

They forgot about Old Took who’d taken the time during the skirmish to draw his sword, swinging it at an unsuspecting Thorin who’s back isn’t covered. Bilbo acts out of instinct, burying his hands into the dirt and letting vines curl around his grandfather, effectively making him immobile and lifting him from the ground.

The old man grunts in annoyance, and spits in front of Thorin’s feet when he turns around to look up at the man in bewilderment. He’s hanging several feet off the ground, and Bilbo has no intentions to let him go anytime soon.

“How long will that hold?” Esme asks, fascinated by the way the plants have grown so fast. Bilbo and her go up to Thorin, standing next to him and looking up at their grandfather.

“For as long as I live and nobody destroys it,” he answers casually as one of the vines manages to wrangle the sword out of the Captain’s grip.

Thorin huffs out a quiet laugh, amazed by the events. “Esmeralda, call Headquarters. This base is in need of a new Captain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're leaving Bree in the next chapter, I promise.
> 
> Flower Language:
> 
> marjoram - blushes  
> anemones - anticipation  
> chervil - sincerity  
> oak leaves - loyalty, strenght and life (and many more, but those are the most relevant in this context)
> 
>  
> 
> [talk to me on tumblr](http://thorin-wiggles.tumblr.com/)


	4. Ridiculously small and squishy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leaving Bree, and some bonding time between Bilbo and Thorin. (They said there's much pining)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to my beta Ash, and to Mags, who let me rant at her and answered all my dumb questions. I love you two <3

Thorin pinches the bridge of his nose, a sigh escaping his lips as _another_ outraged cry erupts in front of him. Bilbo has been trying to convince his cousin, _and isn’t that a surprise_ , Esmeralda, to remain at the base with the other marines. She’s stomping one of her feet now, and Bilbo flinches away from it as he throws a helpless glance over his shoulder at Thorin.

It’s strange, seeing Bilbo almost _frightened_. After all, when Thorin met him he'd assumed Bilbo was a polite confident man who is both fearless and has a knack for disregarding rules. He’s a handsome young man, no doubt about that, but he doesn’t always look like a man. Bilbo must only tilt his head for Thorin to think him a woman, then again a man with the flick of a wrist, and the next second he can’t even distinguish his gender at all. Had Bilbo not told him that he was a man, he might not have believed him.

He has to shush the voice in his head telling him that he’d _felt_ that evidence quiet clearly when Bilbo had been pressed up against him when they first met some hours ago.

Thorin’s taking a few steps forward to stand next to Bilbo, and resists the urge to lay a reassuring hand on the shorter man’s shoulder. Bilbo looks up st him expectantly, as does Esmeralda, and despite him being used to it, this makes him rather uncomfortable. At least they’re finally quiet, he thinks.

“Esmeralda, stand down. You will remain here, and finally inform Headquarters about the situation,” he says, and pauses at Bilbo’s sound of triumph. Esmeralda seems to deflate in front of him. “Nobody will mention that you were involved, and you know it. You are needed here.”

At last, she nods, and Thorin turns to Bilbo. “We, however, have to leave. I’m already disowned and dishonourably discharged and _you_ led an attack against a high ranking marine officer. I’m afraid we’ll be labelled as pirates.”

“What!?”, Bilbo peeps up, face paling rapidly. “That’s not what I wanted.”

Thorin eyes him critically. “You went against marine orders and defeated a Marine Captain. What _were_ you expecting?”, he asks, feeling rather amused, despite the heavy atmosphere.

“Not that!”, Bilbo snaps and rakes a hand through his hair in frustration. “Oh, what will Gandalf say.”, he mutters, and Esmeralda snorts.

“He’ll probably laugh, you know how he is.”, she says, and Thorin makes a questioning noise, raising an eyebrow when Bilbo looks up at him with his vibrant green eyes.

They stare at each other for a while, Esmeralda looking back and forth between them in turn, and finally Bilbo breaks the silence. “Gandalf is my godfather, and he’s brought me here with his boat.” The small man closes his eyes for a moment, and turns his head, his eyebrows knit in concentration. “He’s already waiting at the port.”

“How do you know?”, Esmeralda asks, clearly sensing Thorin’s impatience but ignoring it for the sake of seeing her cousin a little while longer. He can’t really blame her; it’s unlikely they’ll see each other outside of the battlefield again.

Bilbo opens his eyes again, and looks at her with a giddy smile. “I gave him some of the flowers I grew, and as we parted ways, I somehow always knew exactly where he was. It’s amazing!” She shakes her head at him, smiling fondly, and draws him into a hug. Bilbo is startled, but hugs her back tightly nonetheless. They part again after a few moments, and Esmeralda takes three steps back, adopting her professional, blank face again.

Thorin nods his head, even though Bilbo cannot see it, at Esmeralda, and she nods her head back at him. It’s as much respect they can show each other during these circumstances.

“Then we shouldn’t linger.” He shoves his hand rather uncereminously between Bilbo’s shoulder blades to get him moving, but the younger man shoves his heels into the dirt, and Thorin gives an irritated grunt. “What now?”

Bilbo turns to look at him under his eyebrows, crossing his arms and tapping a large foot. Thorin hasn’t even noticed up until now that Bilbo doesn’t wear any shoes. “You always talk of an “us” but there is no “us” because I will be going with Gandalf, search for more information about my mother and I don’t want to know what you’ll be doing.”

Thorin starts to frown more and more as Bilbo talks, and thinks that he’s not making any sense. “Of course I’ll be coming with you.”, he answers, half incredulous, half impatient. “I owe you my life, and I shall follow you until I have repaid my debt.”

Bilbo, in turn, looks at Thorin as if he’s lost his mind. “You already helped me take down Old Took, saving _my_ life in the process, so the debt is already repaid,” he explains, as if talking to a child and Thorin feels his anger rising. He thinks for a moment, and his eyes widen when the idea strikes him.

“Look, you’re already labelled a criminal, and I am, too. You’ll need help if you want to continue on. The Grandline hides many dangers, Master Baggins, and I am alreadly willing to follow you and become a part of your crew.”

Thorin watches his new captain mull his proposition over, and he does _not_ grin stupidly at the thought of finally belonging to someone he can trust, despite the fact that he could already count his debt repaid. Thorin doesn’t, cannot, face his family yet, knowing he’s the disappointment now. He’s beginning to follow in the footsteps of his younger brother Frerin, becoming a criminal yet and hopefully _not_ ending like him, dying with a rope around his neck as his family watches. But Bilbo he can trust, and they can protect each other, and standing back to back with the man during a fight is a mental image he relishes.

Bilbo looks at him then, calculating, and Thorin allows himself a small, hopeful smile, delighting in the way Bilbo’s eyes widen and the flowers in his hair turn as pink as the blush that spreads over his cheeks.

The younger man breathes air out of his nose, then, and finally relents with a “Yes, okay, I’ll take you with me.”, and Thorin tries not to whoop in joy. He has to keep a reputation, after all, but he’s not quiet sure he succeeds in reigning in his reactions as Esmeralda grins at him and wiggles her eyebrows.

“Esme!”, Bilbo huffs, and swats a hand at her, causing Thorin to finally let out a small chuckle, thinking that he could get used to that, especially as Bilbo returns his mirth with a giggle of his own.

…

They’re walking down to the port in companionable silence, Bilbo at the front, Thorin following behind him on his left. The people give them a wide berth; Thorin glowers at them all, daring them to come closer, despite Bilbo’s demands to just stop. In his marine uniform and at his _ridiculous height_ , as Bilbo has called it, he stands out. He refrained from telling his captain that he is _ridiculously small_ and _squishy_.

By the time they reach the port, Bilbo is wringing his hands, almost standing on his tiptoes to gain a little height and looking out for his godfather. Thorin sees him first and his entire body tenses, anger welling up inside of him and before he knows it he’s storming away from Bilbo and on his way to Tharkûn who has the nerve to smile when he spots him.

“You!”, Thorin growls, pointing an accusing finger at the grey claoked figure. “It’s all your fault! You almost got me killed!” Tharkûn’s smile only grows brighter in response and Thorin doesn’t even try to not stomp his feet.

The old man leans on his staff, craning his neck around, and when he sees his godson hurrying after the incensed marine, he huffs a sigh of relief. When he looks back towards Thorin, the man has stopped in front of him and stares down at him. “Explain yourself, Wizard!”, he demands, and Gandalf lets out a chuckle.

“Why, Thorin! You have your grandfather’s bearing.” He chuckles, patting Bilbo on the head when the blond man finally comes to stop next to him. “I see you’ve met my godson. Did he behave?”

Bilbo splutters at the insinuation that he should ever not behave, but Thorin pays him no heed. “Why did you make my superiors transfer me to Bree of all places, huh? These have been the worst two years of my life, and it’s all your fault,” he says, breathing heavily. “I want an explanation!”

Gandalf opens his mouth to answer, but they are once again interrupted by the sound of trampling feet. Thorin’s frown deepens when he feels a tug on his wrist where Bilbo has wrapped his small fingers around it, and he looks down at the panicked whisper of his name. He doesn’t quite understand why Bilbo feels panic at all, remembering his battle stance and righteous fury as he stood opposing his grandfather. The look in Bilbo’s eyes, however, is concern, but for _Thorin_ , the former marine realises with a start, and he gently detaches that hand to turn around and face the enemy.

He’s already reaching for the sword strapped across his back, but with unfathomable speed a blur of grey dances across his vision and he steps back immedeately, letting himself be lead away by an insistent tugging at his wrist. When he looks down, however, instead of Bilbo’s small hand, there’s a small vine looped around his arm.

Looking back up, he sees Tharkûn facing the group of marine soldiers on his own, laughing as he does so, and telling Bilbo not to worry. Thorin thinks that telling his captain that might not be the best course of action here, but only shakes his head, because Bilbo is already taking the few steps towards the boat, pulling Thorin along with him.

“Thorin, on the boat, now!”, Bilbo calls, but still he hesitates. He hates running away if there is a way for him to help, and he does know that Tharkûn will be alright on his own, and yet… “ _Captain’s Orders_ , Thorin!”, Bilbo shouts when Thorin takes a few steps away from him, and _that_ jolts Thorin into action. He turns, loosening the boat from the pole it is tied to, and jumps abord, Bilbo holding him up when he almost lands on his face.

 

The boat leaves the port, and still Tharkûn makes no move towards it, despite Bilbo’s shouting and waving. The old man simply waves back with a shit eating grin, and Bilbo huffs out an annoyed breath. If Thorin were to say he’ll miss Bilbo’s godfather, he’d be lying, but his captain does seem distraught. He’s quiet, though, until Bree disappears on the horizon, and only then Thorin remembers to grip the steering wheel.

“Do you even know how to sail?”, comes the tired question from Bilbo, and Thorin visibly bristles, and tenses his shoulders.

He turns around to glare at Bilbo, but the young man isn’t even looking at him, and it doesn’t seem prudent to continue if he isn’t noticed, so instead he says: “I haven’t been a Lieutenant for nothing, you know?”

Bilbo inclines his head from where he’s braced against the railing, still watching the horizon and the sunset. “I thought it had more to do with prowess in battle, and you’re a strong fighter, so I don’t doubt your abilities. I’m sorry if I offended you.” It’s strange how easy it is for Thorin to let go of his anger after that.

“All marine soldiers are trained to be able to sail a ship. How are you supposed to be of any help to your comrades if you cannot even do that?”, he asks, and Bilbo’s head snaps up, green eyes zeroing in on him, with determination and a careful deliberation all at once, and Thorin blinks at him.

Bilbo walks the few steps up to him and takes one of his hands into his smaller ones, a pink flower growing in their clasp, and Thorin briefly wonders if that is to be his life from that moment on, much like he did when they left a couple of hours ago. Still, he can’t find it in himself to even regret a small thing, not when Bilbo is looking up at him so earnestly. Thorin is once again struck by how tiny his captain is, and a strong urge to protect the man sweeps through him, making him want to tug him closer, but when Bilbo opens his mouth to speak, Thorin resists, concentrating instead on the words Bilbo says.

He blinks again, waking himself from his trance. “Of course I’ll teach you how to sail, Master Baggins.”, he answers the question.

He makes to step back, but his captain holds fast. “You can call me Bilbo, I hope you know that.”, he says, but Thorin is already shaking his head, pulling his hand from Bilbos’. “Thorin?”

“Is this flower for me?”, he asks instead, considering the delicate petals tickling the palm of his hand. “Am I to keep it?”

Bilbo sighs, but he’s the one to take a step back, closing Thorin’s hand around the flower’s stem. “It’s called Camellia. It’d make me happy if you kept it, yes.”

He plucks a petal from it, and Bilbo breathing out a tiny gasp is enough for Thorin to look up at him in alarm. “Did I hurt you?”, he asks, reaching for Bilbo’s shoulder with his free hand.

“This just felt as if you pulled a single hair off my head!”, Bilbo says, the answer muffled behind the hand he’d raised in front of his mouth. Noticing Thorin’s frantic gaze, he tries to assure him, “It didn’t hurt, it was just really uncomfortable. Please don’t do it again.”

Thorin nods and then frowns as he looks from Bilbo’s hair back to the flower still clutched in his other hand. “It’s the same kind of flower as the ones woven through your hair.”

“What?”, Bilbo asks, clearly perplexed, “There are no flowers in my hair. I’m sure I would have noticed that!” The young man runs a hand through his hair now, and Thorin barely surpresses a smile as Bilbo’s eyes widen as he feels petals beneath his fingers.

It’s silent for another heartbeat, then Bilbo shrieks like a thing possessed and runs towards the boat’s only cabin to lock himself in the bathroom, leaving Thorin laughing to himself. “I think they suit you, if that helps!”, he yells, and hears a dull thump followed by a yelp.

“It does not!”, comes the pitiful response. “I just hit my head against the mirror!”

…

Three days later, Thorin is ready to strangle someone. And by _someone_ he means Bilbo Baggins, who sits on the other side of the ship, wailing about not having enough food and Thorin is hard pressed not to tell him to shut up. Instead, he grits his teeth and clutches the steering wheel even tighter, his knuckles turning white at the pressure. Another whine from the other side makes Thorin growl, and the sound abruptly stops. The first mate can practically feel Bilbo pouting in his general direction and hunches his shoulders guiltily.

Bilbo sighs, and he’s done that a lot since he’s discovered the flowers on his person, “We should have reached Weathertop by now. Are we lost?”, he asks, his voice small and frightened, and Thorin releases a shaky breath.

“We’ll have to find a navigator in the next town we pass, there’s no avoiding it.”, he says, confirming his captain’s suspicions. “I can sail a boat or ship just fine, but navigating has never been my strong suit.”

Bilbo huffs out a dry laugh. “I should have listened to Esme when she said your sense of direction is atrocious.” Thorin doesn’t say anything to that, so Bilbo continues, “I miss her already.”

“Why are you complaining so much about the food?”, Thorin asks after a few tension filled minutes, “You’re hardly starving.” He turns to watch Bilbo’s reaction, but his captain’s attention is focused not on him, but clearly on memories.

It’s quiet yet again, the waves and seagulls overhead only background noise as Bilbo buries his face in his hands. His head whips up again just as quickly, and he catches Thorin’s gaze with his own. “Have you ever heard of The Shire, Thorin?”, he asks softly, and Thorin grumbles a bit, clearly thinking of it.

“It’s a green land, very fertile, known for its farming and crops.”, he says, as if he’s memorized it at some point in the past.

Bilbo hums in acknoledgement, but doesn’t say more about the matter, leaving Thorin to concentrate on the steering wheel again. The sun is going down, taking its warmth with it, but Thorin doesn’t feel the cold. He’s used to worse, after all.

“It hasn’t always been like that,” Bilbo’s voice rings out quietly, and the words barely carry over the wind and the sound of waves. “There was a series of bad winters, where snow has covered everything, has seeped into the ground and killed every plant there was. Everything we had saved diminished soon, and even the richer people weren’t unaffected by the dwindling food supply.”

He clearly means himself by that, Thorin thinks to himself, when Bilbo mentions the richer people. It is obvious that the small man had enjoyed a proper education, what with the proper way he held himself. He turns around at last, to see how his captain is doing.

Bilbo is shaking now, and Thorin enters the small cabin to grab a blanket. He covers his captain with it, and Bilbo grasps the edges of it almost desperately, as if he is afraid he’d float away if he lets go.

“That’s still no reason to be so obnoxious about it, Master Baggins.”, Thorin says to lighten the mood, and winces not a second later. One corner of Bilbo’s mouth lifts up, as if against his permission, and Thorin tries a hesitant smile of his own, even if it must come out more like a grimace.

Bilbo looks up at Thorin where he’s kneeling in front of him, and tilts his head. “You’re taking care of me, even though I’ve been annoying you these past few days.”, he remarks, and Thorin feels his face warming.

“Don’t get used to it.”, he says gruffly, and averts his eyes. “When we find more people to follow you, you’ll have them to bother and I’ll have my peace.”

His captain doesn’t seem dissuaded, though. “And what if I demand your service?”, he asks, and before Thorin can answer, Bilbo continues, “What if I want you to be at my side always?”

Old Took had said much the same words, had sounded so possessive, but Bilbo is earnest. He is giving him a choice, and Thorin smiles a small, genuine smile.

“You are my captain and I am your first mate. I shall follow you until you have no need of me anymore, until one of us dies, until your goal is completed. Please do not doubt my loyalty.”

When Thorin grasps Bilbo’s hand this time, daffodils blooming around them and he feels free… despite the fact that he’s just pledged himself to the this tiny man who runs around barefoot, fusses about his clothing and complains about the lack of handkerchiefs.

Bilbo suddenly gasps, looking over Thorin’s shoulder and letting go of his hand to point in the direction of the isle that has started to appear on the horizon. “Oh, I really hope for you that this is Weathertop or I _will_ be angry with you.”, he mutters, and Thorin scowls.

“ _Oh, shut up_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower Language:
> 
> Marjoram- Blushes  
> Camellia - My destiny is in your hands  
> Daffodils - New Beginnings
> 
> Please leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed! :)
> 
>  
> 
> [my tumblr if you wanna](http://thorin-wiggles.tumblr.com/)


	5. No suspicious stains on my couch please

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introducing Ori, and clothing shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always go to Ash and Mags, who are lovely and always helpful.

“Erm, it’s rather... empty, here, don’t you think?”, Bilbo says as the small town port comes into view. Thorin refrains from rolling his eyes at the unnecessary remark, and Bilbo lets out a shrill whistle, looking around. “That’s a large ship.”

This time, Thorin rolls his eyes, carefully steering the small boat into the port. “It’s also a pirate ship. Have you seen the black flag, up there?” He asks, pointing at the mast of the vessel.

Bilbo swallows hard. “Are you implying what I think you’re implying?” Thorin shrugs his shoulders, uneasiness creeping up on him at the fearful tone in Bilbo’s voice. 

“Well, I’m not saying the pirates raided the town, but there’s black smoke rising from different roofs, and I’ve not seen any people around.” 

Bilbo sighs. “So you are saying that the pirates raided the town.” He runs a hand down his face. “Oh dear god.”

Thorin leaves the boat first, reaching out with a hand to put it on Bilbo’s lower back to steady the flailing captain. Putting his other hand into Thorin’s and shaking his head, the man moans: “I’ll never get used to this. Thank you,” he adds with a quick smile in Thorin’s direction.

The first mate only nods. “You got any plans yet?”, he asks after a while, when they are a few minutes into the city. It is as empty as it has seemed when they’ve first seen it from the boat. The houses are abandoned, the streets quiet, and only faint sounds of cheer reach them from further up a roof of a manor on top of a hill. 

“We’ll have to get you new clothes,” Bilbo decides after thinking about it for a while. “You can’t keep running around in your marine uniform all the time.”

Thorin frowns, looking down at himself. “What’s wrong with my uniform?”, he asks, and Bilbo shakes his head at him. “Oh,” Thorin says shortly after, realizing his mistake, and Bilbo snickers, earning him a scowl from the taller man.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” says a voice left to them, and Thorin grips the handle of his sword tightly in surprise, “are you two marines?”

It is a rather harmless looking female, with red hair and freckles across the bridge of her nose. She is clutching a large book to her chest, and looks curiously up at Thorin.

“We’re not marines,” Bilbo says, getting her attention, and she looks at him, clearly confused. “We’ve been looking for a clothing store. Are you a local?” 

She is taller than Bilbo, but the man doesn’t seem to mind to look up at her. “I’m not a local, but I’ve been living here for a while. I had hoped you’d take care of the pirate problem. I’d like to continue studying the weather rather sooner than later.” She sighs, looking at Bilbo’s expectant face. “But I can show you the nearest clothing store.”

An enourmous grin grows on the captain’s face, “Thank you so much!”, he gushes, and claps his hands together once. “After you,” he says.

“So,” the woman says, turning around and walking backwards to keep talking to them, “what are you doing here then, if you’re not marines?” Bilbo and Thorin exchange a look, making the redhead hesitate. “Oh, if you’d rather not tell, I’ll not push!”

Bilbo visibly struggles with his answer and settles with, “It’s a long story,” shrugging his shoulders, and Thorin nods along with him. The young woman turns around again, steering into another street, and finally halting in front of a small shop.

Bilbo smiles at her, and then visibly hesitates. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask for your name. I’m Bilbo,” he stucks a thumb out over his shoulder to point at his friend, “and this is Thorin.” The taller man only nods, and the woman eyes him warily.

“My name is Ori,” she says, and with a stage whisper she leans down towards Bilbo, “does he always look like that?” Thorin bristles, clenching his hands into fists, and Bilbo has to raise a hand to his mouth to hide a smile.

He reaches behind him to pat Thorin’s arm in placation, and says rather cheekily, “That’s just his resting face, don’t you worry.” That’s the last straw apparently, because Thorin turns around and stomps into the store, leaving Ori and Bilbo giggling to themselves.

“Come on, let’s see what he’s doing in there,” Bilbo says after they have calmed down, holding the door open for his new acquaintance. “Do you suppose it’s okay for us to just leave the right amount of money there and taking the clothes with us right away?”

Ori shrugs her shoulders and purses her lips. “I don’t see a problem with it.” She does a double take when she spots Thorin. “Is he drooling?”

“Oh, Thorin,” Bilbo sighs out as Thorin turns big blue pleading eyes at him, clutching a chain mail to his chest. The captain’s shoulders sag at the sight. “How much?” Thorin reads the number from the price tag, and once again Bilbo is relieved that he’s quiet rich. “Yeah, alright, we’ll buy it.”

Thorin’s whole face lights up in a small but heartfelt smile, and he breathes out a quiet “thank you” to Bilbo before he goes looking for tunics and pants. The captain shakes his head with a smile, and goes through the clothing available himself.

Ori tilts her head at them, contemplating the interactions between the two males. “He doesn’t seem as scary when he’s not scowling,” she remarks, and Bilbo hums, reaching for a crisp white shirt, holding it up against his chest, and frowning when he finds it too large. “You can just roll the sleeves up and tug the hem into your trousers, if you don’t find anything in your size.” Ori then says, seeing his expression.

Bilbo looks up at her, searching her face, and only sees honesty there, so he nods. “Yeah, I think you might be right, Ori,” he says, and she smiles.

In the end, Bilbo takes the shirt with him, and chooses brown, knee long trousers along with it, since it resembles the style of his country a bit. He doesn’t find any waistcoats, though, and has to remind himself that those aren’t very practical out at sea when he finds himself missing them.

He’s taken longer to change into his new clothes, and when he steps out, rolling the sleeves up his arms to have his arms free, Thorin has already changed. He’s in a blue tunic, the collar open and showing the chainmail, his sleeves rolled up, and black trousers clinging to his thighs and calves. It takes Bilbo a while to take his eyes off of him, feeling hot around the collar, but when he raises his gaze to Thorin’s face, the man’s eyes snap up from around Bilbo’s forearms.

Ori has to clear her throat to dispell the sudden tension, and both men startle as they are reminded of her presence. “Now that you have your clothes, may I ask a favour?”, she asks, and Bilbo looks at her curiously, nodding after a few moments and motioning with a hand for her to continue. “The pirates have besieged the university where I study, and they’re interested in one map in particular, a map of the grandline, and I need it.”

“Now wait just a moment,” Thorin butts in, “why haven’t you fled the city like all the other citizens? You’re remaining here just because of a map?” 

Thorin looks incredulous, but Bilbo nods along as if it all makes sense. He sounds scandalized when he says: “Thorin, that’s a perfectly valid reason! Maps are important! We’ll need more maps if we want to reach the next island.” Ori beams at his response.

“And what is your next destination?”, Ori asks, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet as she watches them both with interest. 

Bilbo tilts his head in response. “I thought of Ered Luin next, and after that Rivendell, and then, of course we’d reach the grandline.” He hesitates. “Do you want to come with us? You can have the map and you’ll show us the way. You are studying to be a navigator, yes?”

“I graduated already, I’m just teaching at this point,” she answers, but before she can say anything more, Thorin clears his throat.

He lays a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Maybe we should tell her first that we don’t have a clean vest either,” and his captain looks up at him, frowning.

“What do you mean by that?”, the young woman asks warily, taking a few steps away from them.

Bilbo turns back to Ori. “We’re chased by the marine because of a misunderstanding and we’re also unwilling pirates.” The young woman’s eyes widen, and her face pales.

She points a finger at them, stuttering: “But you’re so nice, and willing to pay for your clothes!” When Bilbo opens his mouth, she gestures him to shut it. She takes a few moments to calm her racing heartbeat as the men watch her in concern. That’s what seems to decide her. “You don’t look like bad people.” Bilbo smiles, and even Thorin relaxes a bit.

“Are you alright?”, the smaller man asks nevertheless, and when Ori nods, his shoulders sag. He shares a look with his friend, and the taller man nods.

He turns back to Ori. “Good, how about we take care of the pirates and you come with us as a navigator?” At the sight of the woman’s indecisive face, he adds: “At least until the next island and we’ll find someone else to help us.” He’s rambling now. “I’m just really bad at sailing and Thorin has no sense of direction and we’d be lost on sea in mere moments without a navigator to lead us. And-“ He’s cut off when Thorin slaps a hand over his mouth, and he visibly deflates, looking at Ori with pleading eyes.

“I think I’ll decide after I’ve seen the both of you fight,” the young woman says, and while Thorin looks insulted that someone would doubt his skill in battle, Bilbo agrees readily and holds out his hand for Ori to shake. “But it’s already getting dark. How about I’ll let you sleep at my place?”

Bilbo looks so grateful as he nods his head that even Thorin cracks a smile, and together they make their way to Ori’s two room flat on the outskirts of the city, near the port.

“It’s not much,” the redhead says, “but it’s enough for me. The couch in the living room can be expanded so two people can sleep on it.” Thorin goes to work on it in seconds, while Bilbo takes a look at the kitchen.

He’s rummaging in the fridge when he asks, “How about I make us a nice dinner?” Thorin grunts an affirmative, binding his hair back anew as a few strands had escaped beforehand, and sitting back on his haunches with a satisfied expression on his face. Bilbo looks at Ori in askance, and that make her protests stuck in her throat. The small man looks vaguely guilty for taking the kitchen over, but mostly he just seems eager to pay her back in any way he can, so she lets out a sigh and gestures for him to go on. With a whoop of elation Bilbo gets back to it, orange flowers blooming in his hair, and Thorin watches him with a fond smile from where he’s seated at the small table.

Ori leaves them to it, closing the bedroom door behind her and crossing the room to put her book on the table beside her bed. She changes into more comfortable clothes, and when she hears a crash from the direction of her kitchen, she sticks her head through the opening of her door.

Thorin takes one look at her face and assures her, “We clean up after ourselves, don’t worry about it.” She isn’t really sure about that, but decides to ignore it for the moment. Thorin walks up towards her, and she has to look up to catch sight of his face. “Do you have a shower that I can use?”, he asks, and she blinks, not having expected such a question.

“First door down the hall, on the right,” she says and he answers with a curt bow, leaving her puzzled at the entire exchange. “What a strange man,” she murmurs to herself, shaking her head. She wanders back into the bedroom to grab cushions and a large quilt and deposits them on the pull-out couch in the living room.

When she hears the call of her name, she looks up, and Bilbo comes walking in her direction with a dish cloth in his hand. “Can I use the shower after Thorin?

She has to blink at that. “Why didn’t you two use it together in the first place?”, she asks innocently, and watches Bilbo go as pink as the flowers in his hair with great amusement.

“That’s a rather…intimate thing to do for people who’ve known each other for less than a week, don’t you think?”, he says, his voice strangled. He spaces out for a few moments, and buries his head in his hands when he realizes he’s still standing next to her. “Oh god, I can’t think about that now!”

“Can’t think about what?”, Thorin asks from behind them, and Bilbo shrieks even as Ori starts and clutches at her shirt above her heart. “You’re far too easily startled, Master Baggins,” Thorin frowns, trying to hide his smile at Bilbo’s obviously flustered state.The small man lets out another strangled noise, and runs off towards the bathroom, leaving Thorin to look at an amused Ori. “Is something the matter?”

Ori just waves him away, and goes about setting the table while the former marine spreads the bedding over the couch properly, just to have something to do. They both realize that with the cooking almost done, and Bilbo showering, they have nothing to talk about and an awkward atmosphere settles over them. They each sit down at the table, studiously not looking at the other, and which is how Bilbo finds them later.

…

The plates have been cleared away, and they’re nursing cups of tea with the exception of Thorin, who’s found a bottle of beer in the depths of the fridge and now seems content to let the other two talk about this and that. It doesn’t take long until they’re discussing the pirate problem.

“They’ve just appeared two weeks ago,” Ori says, frowing down into her cup, “and we didn’t stand a chance. This is a peaceful village, and the next marine base is in Bree. We sent an SOS but never got an answer, which is why the villagers simply decided to take refuge on other isles around us.”

“I’m sorry,” Thorin apologizes then, “but we never got a message that anything was wrong. Please believe me when I say that we would have come had an SOS reached us.” 

Ori simply nods, but Bilbo hums thoughtfully. He turns to Thorin to ask, “Do you think my grandfather had something to do with that?” 

Thorin’s eyes narrow, and he strokes a hand down his beard and chin. “I wouldn’t put it past him, to be honest. He’s never bothered with anything unless he got paid for it, the bastard.” He’s quiet for a moment, deep in thought, but then focuses his gaze on Ori. “Do you know the name of the pirate crew?”

Before the young woman can answer, Bilbo speaks. “Is it important that we know?”, he wants to know, and Thorin indulges him.

“If I’ve heard of them, I might know their strategies and powers, and we can plan accordingly.”, he answers, and Bilbo raises an eyebrow, impressed by Thorin’s foresight, making Thorin smile slightly, pleased. Ori has to hide a huff of laughter as a cough, but apparently does not quite succeed as Thorin sends a glare in her direction.

Bilbo still seems confused by the exchange, his forehead crinkled in a frown as Ori says: “I couldn’t get near them enough to see the flag or anything else. They might be partying all day but their captain is hiding in their tent at all times.”

The blond man’s frown deepens: “But why would he do that?”, he asks, and the young woman shrugs helplessly, not knowing the answer to that particular question. 

“Maybe they don’t like sunlight?”, Thorin tries, and Bilbo snorts.

“Everyone needs sunlight to strive, Thorin. Sunlight is the thing that keeps us alive and happy after all.”, he says incredously.

The first mate shakes his head. “Not everyone needs daylight, you know. There’s this one Samurai of the Sea who prefers shadow over light so his devil’s fruit powers work approprietely.”

“But that doesn’t seem right!”, Bilbo complains, and Thorin lays a hand on his shoulder to show he understands. The captain’s shoulders slump in answer. “Well, maybe, that just means we have to expose him to sunlight to get rid of him.”

Ori, who has been watching them for a while, cuts in: “It’s rarely that easy with pirates, you know. They always have a trick up their sleeve.” 

“Have you met many pirates?”, Thorin asks intrigued. 

Ori seems to hesitate for a moment, but settles for: “Enough to last me a lifetime, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t have to come with us after this, if you’ve only had bad experiences with people like us,” Bilbo assures her when he sees her conflicted expression. “We won’t force you to come with us.”

Ori shrugs her shoulders, “I wouldn’t have let you into my flat if I didn’t trust you at least a bit, so please don’t worry.” Bilbo beams at her in response, and she coughs to hide the blush that setlles over her cheeks.

“Well,” Bilbo says at last, putting both hands on the table and standing up,”we’ll see what happens when we meet the lot tomorrow.” He yawns before continuing: “It’ll be nice to sleep somewhere not swaying for a change.”

Thorin looks at him incredously. “It’s only been three days,” he reminds his captain, and Bilbo gazes down at him.

“And before that another three days, Thorin.”, he says, whining slightly. “Have some sympathy for me.”

The taller man makes a face in response. “Pouting doesn’t work with me, you know. My sister’s child tried it all the time.”

Bilbo sits down again and crosses his legs, turning to Thorin to properly look him in the eyes. “Something tells me that that’s not true.”, he says, turning his nose up, and knows he’s wounded the taller man’s pride when Thorin raises an eyebrow.

“And what makes you say that, Master Baggins?”, he asks, his smile teasing, and leans forward so that they’re eye level.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Ori says, interrupting them, “but I’m heading off to bed. If I find any suspicious stains on my couch you will pay.”, she warns, smiling triumphantly when two red faces turn to her. When she sees Bilbo’s hair, she can’t resist adding: “Bilbo, did you know that the flowers turn the same shade of red as your face when you blush?”

Bilbo gapes at her, before narrowing his eyes, and saying: “And whose fault is it that I’m blushing in the first place, huh?” Ori doesn’t seem repentant in the slightest, her cackling fading when she closes the door to her bedroom behind her.

Thorin clears his throat after a few minutes of umcomfortable silence. “You know I wouldn’t touch you without your consent, right?”, he says, startling Bilbo out of his reverie.

His captain smiles slightly. “Yes, of course I know that.” He raises his hand to lay it on Thorin’s arm, but lets it fall awkwardly halfway to its destination. “Shall we, then?”, he asks instead, gesturing to the bed, and Thorin nods.

They resign themselves to the most awkward night of their respective lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower meaning:
> 
> marjoram = blushes  
> the orange flowers in bilbo's hair were:  
> Gerbera = cheerfulness
> 
> talk to me on tumblr [thorin-wiggles](www.thorin-wiggles.tumblr.com)


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